by J. F. Penn
Dinah glanced down the hall where an orderly was wheeling a patient. Morgan could sense her friend was wary, afraid of what might be overheard, but she had come all this way to help. Dinah unlocked the door and they entered the room, now spotlessly clean and smelling of bleach and disinfectant. Dinah pointed at the wall above the metal bed.
“You can still see the faint lines of the image. We can’t get it all off and we need to paint over it. Abraham drew it in his own blood, Morgan.” Dinah’s voice was bereft. “I can still see his face when he said that God told him to kill himself. I feel like I’ve failed him, and I’m scared for the others. They’re vulnerable and they’re in my care.”
“It’s OK, Di. We’ll figure this out. We always do.”
Morgan studied the outline on the wall. She had the original pictures that Dinah had emailed on her phone but they hadn’t adequately shown the scale. It was a life-size horse, rearing up with nostrils wide and flaring in wild abandon. On its back was the rider of death. She had seen this image before in the pale horse tattoo of Thanatos.
“What’s going on?” she whispered, studying the surface of the drawing. This had to be connected to the group who had pursued her across the world for the Pentecost stones, but why might they be interested in this Institute? A community of mentally disturbed people on the outskirts of a city turbulent with religious fervor. What was she missing? Morgan went to Abraham’s desk, an old wooden table and chair that looked like one she had used at school. There was an mp3 player on the desk, its green chrome surface unmarked. It looked new, a contrast to the aged wood it sat upon.
“Are the patients allowed audio?” she asked Dinah, who was now sitting on the bed, her face haggard and drawn.
“Yes, that’s part of the study Zoebios is doing here. It’s a combination of drug trial paired with audio stimulation.”
“So where are the headphones?”
“There’s a special headset that goes with the audio program. Maybe someone took it back to the storage area. It uses deep trans-cranial stimulation and it’s been shown to reduce depression and improve mood. We’ve been trialling them for Zoebios in recent weeks.”
Morgan turned to her friend, her voice urgent.
“Di, I need to see them. Trans-cranial stimulation has also been used to invoke visions of God. Remember the Persinger God helmet we studied?”
Dinah looked up.
“Of course, but these headphones are nothing like that. They’re just slightly bigger than usual. The God helmet used by Persinger was more like a motorcycle helmet covered in electrodes. Anyway, I thought it didn’t even work.”
Morgan turned back to look at the outline on the wall.
“Certain types of people did sense a presence physically near them in the room during the study. Those with religious leanings believed it was God or sometimes Satan, so it might be relevant. Could you get me one of those headsets? I want to listen to what’s on this mp3 player.”
Dinah rose slowly from the bed, her back hunched and taut with stress. Morgan could see the toll this situation was taking on her friend. Dinah went back into the corridor and Morgan heard her footsteps recede down the hallway. The Dinah she knew was fast and active, but these steps were slow and heavy. She frowned and returned to her search of the room. Aldous Huxley’s book ‘The Doors Of Perception’ sat on a shelf and a quote from the book was stuck to the wall. “Maybe this world is another planet’s hell." Morgan smiled wryly. She had this book on her own bookshelf. She felt a flash of compassion for the dead man. In other circumstances would she be the one shut in an institute like this?
She heard a click from behind her.
Morgan turned to see the door shut and a brief glimpse of a face staring in at her. She rushed to the door to find it locked. She banged on it, shouting for Dinah. Then an explosion rocked the building.
Morgan braced herself against the door as chunks of masonry fell from the ceiling. She ducked to the floor, covering her head and then rolled under the metal bed to protect herself. She could hear patients’ screams above the cacophony of the alarm. Where was Dinah? Was she safe?
Another explosion, closer now. But this time the door buckled as the door frame broke and Morgan saw her chance to escape. Struggling out from under the bed, she grabbed the old wooden chair by the desk and smashed it against the wall. The chair broke apart as she focused her energy into the blow. Morgan wedged the leg into the crack in the door which had opened up in the blast. She used it as a lever until the lock mechanism broke and splintered, weakened as it was by the blast. Morgan forced the door back until she could slip through.
The corridor was full of panicked patients and nurses trying to keep them calm while leading them out of the building. Smoke was pouring into the corridor and there were visible flames at the far end. Morgan knew it wouldn’t be long until the fire caught hold and the whole building would be destroyed. She grabbed the arm of a passing nurse and shouted,
“Where do you keep the headsets for the patients? Where’s your storage area?”
“We need to get out. Please help me with the patients.” The nurse was clearly in shock but Morgan had to find Dinah.
“Which way?” she shouted at the woman, shaking her. The nurse pointed towards the flames.
“It’s back there, but you can’t go now, the fire is too close.”
But Morgan was already sprinting down the corridor. As the smoke made it harder to see and breathe, she dropped to her hands and knees. Covering her mouth with a discarded robe, she crawled onwards as the blazing heat threatened to push her back. Through stinging eyes, she saw a doorway open on her left and through the smoke, the shape of a body. Dinah was lying on the floor, her head bloody. It looked like she had been attacked before the explosion.
Morgan grabbed a sheet from the pile in the storeroom and laid it down. She rolled her friend onto it. Then she spotted a number of headsets with oversized earpieces in a box marked with the Zoebios logo. But there was no time to examine them now. Taking the end of the sheet, Morgan began to crawl back down the corridor, dragging Dinah’s body behind her, grateful that the linoleum meant she could pull the body easily on the slippery surface.
The smoke was heavy and thick now, billowing near the ceiling with flashes of flame shot through it. Morgan knew that the gases were building up to the point where there would soon be another explosion. They had to get out. She took another breath from the air close to the floor and then stood up, eyes squinting. She had more leverage standing, but had to hold her breath in order not to inhale the gases. Drawing on her last reserves of energy, Morgan pulled Dinah faster down the corridor, until they turned a corner and the air began to clear. At the end was a door opened to the courtyard beyond. Re-energized now, Morgan ran for it, pulling her friend to safety. They were spotted by firemen who were entering to tackle the flames and who helped them to safety.
Three ambulances with lights flashing stood in the yard outside the block. The patients who were still standing were being helped further away from the building. A paramedic moved to take the sheet from Morgan’s hand but she clutched it tighter, unwilling to let Dinah out of her sight.
“It’s OK,” the young paramedic said. “You can let go now. We’ll help your friend.”
Coughing and retching from the smoke, as her eyes streamed, Morgan finally relented and let go. She watched as they lifted Dinah onto a stretcher, briefly assessed her and began wheeling her to an ambulance. Morgan sat down on the pavement and breathed from the oxygen mask they had given her. She looked back towards the wards of the Ezra Institute, flames curling from the windows up the walls, the noise of roaring as fire consumed the building. The old furnishings, linen supplies and even the paint meant the fire caught quickly. People around her were talking about a bomb attack, perhaps the Palestinians or an extremist religious group. But Morgan knew this wasn’t a coincidence. There had to be a connection between the deaths of the men, the prophecy and this explosion. Perhaps it was a way to silenc
e a particular doctor from investigating just a little too thoroughly.
Dinah.
Morgan had lost sight of where they had taken her.
She stood, looking around in desperation, oxygen mask discarded by her side. In that moment, she saw the orderly who had been in the corridor just before the explosions. He was getting into the back of the ambulance that Dinah had been put in. Heart racing, Morgan looked for a way to stop the vehicle before it drove off. She knew the man would finish what he had started if that door closed.
Behind her, a policeman was taking a statement and, like all Israeli police, he had a handgun in his belt. She knew the Jericho 941 semi-automatic would be enough to stop the man, if she could use it in time. Spinning round, she caught the policeman off guard and unclipped his gun in one movement. Morgan ran towards the back door of the ambulance as she aimed the weapon. The policeman pursued her, shouting at his colleagues to bring her down.
Morgan could see the ambulance door closing and the face of the orderly as he grinned in triumph. He was hurrying to close the door, kicking away the other paramedic who had been helping, all pretense now gone. She had to take the shot before the police stopped her or Dinah would be lost. In those milliseconds, Morgan took advantage of the tunnel vision and slowed time that adrenalin provides. She fired. One, two shots through the gap of the door. Seeing the orderly drop in the back of the van, she threw the gun to the ground and herself to her knees. Arms up, palms out in surrender, showing the weapon was gone.
“I’m IDF” she shouted. Police surrounded her, guns pointing straight at her head.
Zoebios Head Office. Paris, France. 9.24am
The subject was a forty-two year old accountant professing a moderate Catholicism that involved going to confession twice a year. He had estimated two out of ten for the importance of religious experience in his life. Of course, these questions were hidden in a raft of others that ensured the subject couldn’t prepare for the experience and had no expectation of what they might feel. Dr Maria Van Garre was nevertheless experiencing a thrill of anticipation, as they only had a few more subjects to complete the research. Already the results were clear and tomorrow she would present them to the Board. The trials on the audio for anxiety and depression had been successful and fast-tracked to public release. But her academic drive had urged her to take the technology further into the realms of direct influence on behavior. She was fascinated by how far the obedience studies could be taken and now sought additional funding for the next step.
“Is that comfortable?” She adjusted the eye mask to make sure the cotton wool padding was tight against the subject’s eyes. “It’s important that you can’t see anything.”
“That’s fine. So what should I be expecting?”
“It’s a completely individual experience, Mr … ” Maria checked the clipboard.
“Agineux.”
“Of course. You should just relax and let whatever happens, happen. Just be an observer.”
“But it won’t hurt?”
“Of course not. The field is actually weaker than a fridge magnet,” Maria replied in a soothing tone, trying not to sound like she did this several times a day. “I’m going to put the helmet on you now and then you won’t be able to hear me anymore. Once it’s in place, just lie back and relax. You’ll hear rainfall at first as a way to help you focus. Just concentrate on breathing evenly and enjoy having a rest. I’ll squeeze your hand before I leave the room so you’ll know the experiment is about to begin and I’ll come and get you afterwards.”
“Beats a few hours at work anyhow.” The man smiled, but his blinking eyes betrayed his nerves.
Maria put the helmet over his head and he pulled it into place so it fitted snugly. She fastened the strap under his chin, ensuring the markers were in the correct place to focus the weak magnetic field onto the temporal lobe. She helped him lie back and then squeezed his hand. Walking to the door, she turned the lights off, checking the room for any ambient light and then left. The subject was left in pitch darkness, snug in his relaxing chair. Some days Maria just wanted to sink into the chair herself and soothe away her stress. She had a lot of work ahead but the research was worth every second.
Her assistant, Simone Moreau, clicked on the introductory soundtrack as soon as Maria closed the door behind her. They were experimenting with different conditions for the auditory feed while leaving the magnetic field the same. Some would hear just the rainfall and thunderstorms in the distance, a relaxing soundtrack of nature. Others were fed binaural beat technology that included a behavior for them to physically perform after the experience. It was a simple task but not something they would perform without some kind of direction. Neither of the researchers knew which condition the computer would assign this subject to. It was all randomized by the program.
“Do you want to classify some of the other records while we wait for this one?” Simone asked. “I know you want the report to be ready as soon as possible.”
It took around an hour for the program to complete and then they had to debrief the subject, which involved a recorded interview. They were trying to classify the experiences so that the results could be analyzed further. Maria nodded and sat down at the desk.
“Sure, let’s do a couple. What have you got?”
Simone read from a printout.
“This one experienced a sudden wave of darkness and saw a distant point of light, then felt a presence standing behind, watching over them. Oh wait, they described it as ‘The’ Presence, not just ‘a’ presence.”
“Ok, how did the presence feel?”
Simone skimmed the page.
“It wasn’t threatening, but it wasn’t kind either. It was just there.”
“Tag that one with tunnel because it sounds similar to the near death experiences, and also tag with ambivalent presence. Did they hear anything?”
“Nothing noted.”
Maria tutted.
“Sometimes I don’t think we’re asking the right questions. But it’s so hard to try and put an experience into language. What else?”
“This one ticked the box indicating that the experience didn’t come from their own mind, so I’ll tag with external locus.”
The metronomic needle on the brainwave readout swished as it changed the depths of the peaks and troughs.
“Looks like our man just had his first experience,” Maria noted.
Simone shuffled through the papers. “Interesting. This woman saw flames and said she actually felt heat although it didn’t burn her. She saw faces distorted by the heat and said she actually counted the individual presences as if they had been standing there next to her.”
“That could be disturbing,” Maria noted. “Imagine if you had that type of vision in a church or by yourself in your room at night. It’s certainly the basis for nightmares.”
“Or even a belief in demons and hell,” Simone replied. “I know we’re not meant to use religious terminology but seriously, flames? I’d be worried.”
Of course they had both been in the helmet themselves but neither of them talked about their experiences. They didn’t want to bring a bias to the experiment in terms of acknowledging their own belief, or lack of it. Maria knew that everyone experienced different things, which made it all the harder to classify. Those who had some form of religious belief often had visions that fitted their idea of God. Some people experienced nothing at all. They were often disappointed, as if there was something deficient in them that prevented a higher level of consciousness.
“What about the drug arm at the clinics? I’m keen to know how that went,” Maria asked.
“They’re wrapping up next week, although they used the modified headsets for a more portable environment. Have you tried them?”
Maria thought about the nights she had been using them as a sleep aid. It had become a kind of addiction for her and now she couldn’t sleep without them. She had used a certain frequency and then a suggestion for deep sleep in the binaural bea
t.
“No, I’ll wait for the results, but it looks promising so far.”
Simone nodded.
“If they work, the Board will definitely give us funding. This could be a major breakthrough.”
Maria grinned, pleased with her enthusiasm.
“Who would have believed that a simple headset could pave the way to the kingdom of heaven?”
“Do you really believe that?” Simone’s voice was serious now.
Maria considered her words. These experiments were challenging for all of the researchers involved and she knew many, herself included, were wrestling with personal doubts.
“There are two positions and I flip between them. One is that God gave us this part of our brain so we could experience Him and a type of consciousness that we don’t access in everyday life. The other is that we have evolved to believe in a God who doesn’t actually exist but is, in fact, manufactured by our brains. I know believers and atheists who both think the God helmet validates their opposite positions.”
“I don’t understand why humans would evolve to believe in God if he, or she, didn’t exist,” Simone said. “Where’s the sense in that?”
Maria shuffled the scientific papers in front of her, unsure how far to take the discussion.
“Evolutionary psychologists have suggested that perhaps mankind evolved to a point where they understood the inevitability of physical death. There were some who started to believe there was more than just a physical life, and over time, these people were selected for, in a Darwinian sense, as they were the most hopeful and the ones who helped others.”
“To reduce the anxiety of death, we came up with the unending beyond the physical. Ok, I can see that.” The machine pinged. Simone turned to check the display. “The subject is almost cooked. Who’s doing this debrief?”
“I’ll do it. You’ve done more than your fair share recently,” Maria gathered a question sheet and a small soft toy rabbit from the pile near the door. When the light above the door went green, she stepped into the room and flicked on the low lighting. She put the toy rabbit within reach of the man but under the chair she sat down on so it wasn’t obvious. She touched his hand so that he would know the experience was now over. He tried to pull the helmet off and she slowed him, helping him carefully and removing the eye pads. He blinked at the lights, his breathing elevated.